People Plan, God Laughs
by organdamage
Summary: post 9x19, some MerDer dabble at what I presume to be the worst news ever received in my watching of Grey's history, possible one shot, read and review!


**After last episode and the promo for the next episode I had a lot of feelings, because I'm like so sad and what not**

**All characters of course belong to Ms Shonda Rhimes **

She blinked with the weight of the entire world on her eyelid. It was easy for her to close her eyes and let darkness infiltrate through her sight, but it was hard for her to merely neglect the picture so neatly painted in front of her. It was so neat, too neat, it was no coincidence. She scoffed, thinking about what a patient once said to her, people plan and God laughs.

If this were five years ago, she would not have been so upset or apprehensive about the future that was laid in front of her. If anything she would have expected that this was coming. But this is now, and she had been living a dream, she had been living in a bubble, and what a magical bubble it had been. She had everything she could have ever asked for in a life that she never even knew she wanted. Then like that, bubble popped. What's worse, she realized, she popped her own bubble. She wanted to know. She needed to know. She could've lived years without realizing what the next day would bring.

The picture of her family felt like a slap in the face. She kept trying to close her eyes, tighter and tighter, hoping that when she reopened them that that picture, that reminder of everything she has, and everything she will lose, would just disappear. It was early; the sun hung slimly in the sky, only peering in the window slightly through the cracks of the shade. He was asleep, consumed in a world of dreams unknown to her, a smirk gently staining his face, wherever he was, at least she knew he was happy. She wished he could be in this place forever, where reality was nothing, where dreams could tell the stories that their worst nightmare once threatened, and now began to invade.

A flutter in her stomach reminded her of the life that continued inside of her, only reiterating the hollow presence of the death that wrapped the outside. She slowly got out of bed, each day becoming harder to carry herself anywhere. She waddled to the bathroom, eyes still somewhat shut. She thought she could get herself back to bed with her vision strictly set to the floor, but brought her eyes up too early. Tears swelled and the damn of her frustrations broke as she held the framed picture in her hand; her husband, her daughter, and herself together, toothy smiles spread wide, it made her sick. She couldn't live with herself knowing that one day that this moment, and all the other ones they have, will just be gone. She clutched the frame, her fingers shaking with trepidation, and finally let it fall to the floor, shattering on impact. He startled in his sleep, immediately shooting up in the bed. She, too, fell to the floor, a hand laid across her head with sorrow and the other fretfully rummaging through the pieces of glass. She began to sob when she saw the sonogram that was tucked behind the original photo, he had to have put it there.

"Mer? Mer?" disoriented, he shouted, "are you okay?"

She couldn't bring herself to tell him yes, she couldn't let herself lie again, to pretend that she was fine because of all times to attempt to be fine, this was not one of them. She was simply not okay.

"No," she shook her head, a cry breaking loose in her speech, "I'm really not."

He shuffled out of the comforter and joined her on the floor, swiping the shrapnel with his pajama sleeve, wrapping a protective arm against his wife.

"What happened?" he asked, the bags in his eyes illuminated as the sun began to climb higher in the sky.

"I woke up," she spoke, softly, the cries becoming fainter, "I woke up and I really didn't want to."

His mouth hung in the air like he had something to say, but nothing came out. All the words he could think of were meaningless, because he hadn't wanted to wake up, either. He couldn't tell her to calm down, or that she'd feel better, or anything, really. All he could do was be there for her, to hold her hand and wipe away the tears that kept flowing.

"Sometimes I think that all of this is just a long dream," he starts, a hand now resting on her stomach, "and that I'm going to wake up sometime soon, and you'll be in your ratty Dartmouth tee shirt, snoring like a trucker, George in the shower, and Izzie cooking breakfast. Because that was a nice life where things happened and we took them. We'd get hit, hit hard, and we'd get back up, because that's just what we do. There was no other option."

He paused for a moment, gaping in her beauty, taking in every wrinkle where her brow furrowed, every eyelash out of place, every strand of hair that hung messily out of her bun. He couldn't get himself out of memorizing every detail of her, but his thoughts quickly became lost in this place where whatever seemed right was tainted with a malicious whip.

"But how could I say the life we had then, of toughing it out, of being stronger at the end of the day, having the light at the end of that long tunnel, is any better than the life we have now?" he smirked, "I get to wake up every morning to the love of my life, knowing that my daughter is sleeping safe across the hall, and that my son is growing everyday. What we had before, we were surviving, and now we're finally living."

She looked up at him, entranced in his words, lost in a different place, but in a similar way, asking herself questions about everything, and worrying about everything.

"Then life goes and throws us a curveball and tells us that we can't die when we're one hundred and ten, in each other's arms," a sad, weary smile appeared on his tired face, "and I selfishly worry all the time how I'll survive in a world where you don't. Because I don't think I can do that."

"You have to," her chin wobbled, "you have to, for the kids, for me. You have to."

"I know that," he reassured her, "but for a moment, I'm going to let my guard down, and tell you that I'm not going to be cup half filled on this one, because all I feel is empty. I don't know what to think or say or do. Nothing makes this better."

"I know," she shrugged, burying her head into his neck, "life gives us the suckiest goddamned lemons."

"You're right," he laughed, musing at her ability to break free of this gloomy discussion, "you're absolutely right."

"Derek?" she looked up at him, quizzically.

"Yes?" he answered, looking back.

"Even when I'm sick and miserable and forgetful and basically a vegetable, will you still love me?"

"I'll love you no matter where you are, and no matter who you become," he replied, pecking her lips quickly, "and if you forget who I am, I'll remind you everyday."

"I never really thought that life would come down to this," she thought aloud, "I may always expect the worst, but somewhere deep inside, I truly believed that when Bailey told me the results of that test, it would be negative."

"I did, too," he sighed, "but we have time."

"Sort of," she replied, skeptical, preferring her numbered days of ignorance to this limited future of worrying.

"I have an idea," he got up, slowly, pulling her up as well, grabbing a post it from the dresser.

"I do still remember that we've done that before," she raised an eyebrow, cradling her arm across her shirt, "my memory's not all screwed up just yet."

"I know that," he quipped, scribbling on the top of the paper, keeping it away from her sight, "I have a question, a couple of them, rather."

"Alright," she sat on the bed, "shoot."

"What's the one place in the whole world you've always wanted to go to?"

"Paris," she responded, grinning, "when I toured Europe with Sadie we stayed in France for a few days, but we missed the train to Paris from Nice and just never bothered to try again."

"The food you'd eat again and again?"

"Strawberry ice cream, duh," she answered, immediately, licking her lips.

"The surgery you've always wanted to do?"

"Thalamotomy!" she almost squealed at the thought.

"Place you want Zola to see before she grows up and hates being around us?"

"The Boston aquarium."

"Okay," he showed her the post it, his messy handwriting filling up almost the entire piece of paper:

_How we'll spend the rest of our lives: _

_Visit Paris_

_Eat more strawberry ice cream_

_Scrub in on a thalamotomy together _

_Take Zola to the Boston aquarium _

She wiped a lone tear that slid down her cheek, grabbing the pen to add another,

_5) Saying I love you every day _

**_hope you liked, review please! _**


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